


Instinct

by Strigi



Category: Baldur's Gate, baldur's gate 3
Genre: Assault, Baldur's Gate 3 Spoilers, F/M, Jealousy, Light Masochism, Romance, Sexual Tension, Vampire Bites, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strigi/pseuds/Strigi
Summary: As a cleric of Selûne, Muireann struggles to reconcile a new darkness she feels growing inside of her, separate from the tadpole. Gale blames it on the vampire spawn he believes corrupting her; Astarion is of a different mind. Astarion/Fem!PC [BG3]
Relationships: Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. I've recently become immersed (obsessed?) with early access for Baldur's Gate 3. I would go more into this, but it would require a long description about my fixation with Astarion. Anyway, just a short note/disclaimer. I have very little experience with D&D and this game series; I'm still pretty new. I tried researching some of the relevant lore to write as accurately to the canon that I could, so if I made any slips, I apologize. My PC presented here is a high elf cleric of Selûne, which I may decide to write more about in the future. I'm really interested (a fancy way of saying *confused*) about how to best approach character alignments, so this is a slight experiment.
> 
> Also, as a note, this fic was spawned by a piece of dialogue from Astarion. I find everything about him attractive, even this particular line, so I tried refashioning it in a way to benefit the MC.
> 
> Warning: references to assault, spoilers for BG3, also we simp hard for Astarion here (if I didn't already make that clear).

There were many good reasons for Muireann to become a cleric of Selûne, but there had only been one reason why she had wanted this path. As the Silver Lady of the stars, seas, and navigation, Selûne had the power to tempt many into her fold. Muireann desired the ability to navigate her own path, to escape the suffocating thumb of her mother. While her life realized a path much different than what she had originally wanted for herself, Muireann could not deny she was far from Baldur's Gate now, far from the vigilant sentry of her mother.

Although, being abducted and mutilated by mindflayers was not quite what she bargained for.

Whenever these intrusive reflections of her past intercepted her thoughts, she reasoned that her circumstances could be much worse. At least she was not entangled with a cambion. At least she did not have a ravenous black hole simmering beneath her skin. At least she had not been enslaved and fallen prey to a sadistic vampire lord for centuries. At least she had not succumbed to the effects of ceremorphosis.

At least, not yet. There was still time.

Thoughts of her mother always turn her mood sour, and Muireann typically alleviates this by training with Lae'zel, who is always eager to provide distraction in the form of a physical beating. The githyanki warrior delights any chance to assert her battle prowess, and Muireann is grateful that the exertion—and subsequent soreness—provide welcome companions to occupy her thoughts.

But tonight, when Muireann stalks away from the riverbank after their sparring session, her mind drifts elsewhere. She deposits her gear—her armor and weapons—by her bedroll before stretching out her limbs to gauge the size of the fresh bruises forming.

"We can always look for that Loviatar priest again, if the pummelling I provided was not to your liking," Lae'zel quips as she walks by. Her face is smooth and unsmiling, but Muireann thinks, or imagines, this is Lae'zel's attempt at humor.

Hoping she is interpreting the words correctly, Muireann offers a dry chuckle. "Not necessary."

But Lae'zel does not turn away, her sharp gaze withering. "I respect your determination to improve your combat skills, but the githyanki are always taught to be wary of a comrade who enjoys spilling their own blood than that of her enemies."

Muireann's face hardens defensively. "I assure you that is not the case."

Lae'zel shrugs a single shoulder, her interest in the conversation rapidly waning. "It matters little to me. At least your masochism gives me ample opportunity to practice my sword arm." She turns away suddenly, without waiting for a response, summarily ending their conversation.

The observation leaves a bitter taste in Muireann's mouth, reminding her of a growing thought she had been avoiding. Not of her mother, but a darkness of a different sort. One she feels gnawing at her core, separate from the tadpole gnawing at her mind. For a brief moment, her eyes flit to Astarion, his back to her as he weaves his charms for Wyll, trying to discern how to summon a cambion. She doesn't hear Wyll's annoyed responses, her mind too absorbed into replaying past dalliances and rendezvous with the vampire.

Astarion's back stiffens, and for a moment, Muireann's face warms as she worries he might have detected her thoughts with the tadpole. But when he turns, he does not look her way. Instead, he looks to his left, and when Muireann follows his gaze, she realizes Gale is staring at her, his eyes blazing. His face stormy.

Realizing the wrong person was listening, she quickly turns away, throwing up mental walls to protect her thoughts. Her stomach squirms with dread as she makes her way to the only private refuge in camp—the ruins of an old building across the stream. She expertly maintains her balance as she traverses the fallen tree, and the crumbling stone walls offer some semblance of refuge, blocking the last rays of the fading sunlight.

She already knows Gale's arguments, his reservations and protests. He had shared them quite clearly at the tiefling celebration. His disapproval of her bond with Astarion grew more vocal with each passing day. He blamed the vampire for changing her, corrupting her, tempting her from the path of Selûne. How could a cleric of the light and the Moonmaiden consort with a creature of the shadows? What else could explain the growing darkness in her heart if not Astarion?

But Gale is wrong. Our Lady of Silver accepts and loves all creatures, no matter their alignments or nocturnal origins. The darkness in her had existed long before meeting Astarion; the vampire's presence had merely encouraged the exploration of this side of herself. It had been why she accepted Abdirak's ritual of pain; it had been an experiment of her own terms, initiated by her own consent. A choice she made, a newfound freedom she was beginning to enjoy outside Baldur's Gate. Astarion provided the security to express these suppressed versions of herself, to indulge in her own inner darkness, which was probably why she was falling for him so irrevocably.

But it enabled her to recognize the darkness growing in Gale, and not of the Mystra variety. She had sensed his clawing jealousy when she refused him at the celebration. She senses it even now, approaching her in the ruins.

When Muireann turns to meet him, Gale makes no attempt to hide or conceal that festering anger. He stops a short distance away, the hands at his sides clenching and unclenching into firsts. "Is your nightly ritual with Lae'zel your form of self-penance?" His words are unabashedly hostile, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light.

She does not back down, squaring her shoulders to meet his glare evenly. "Penance for what?" she asks through clenched teeth.

He scoffs, a disgusted sound of disbelief. "You know what you did wrong."

"And what, pray tell, did I do wrong? Enlighten me."

"You let him murder that Gur today."

She blinks, recalling how Astarion's monster hunter solution had been met with mixed reactions. "And you would have gotten between a vampire and his prey?" she challenges.

Shifting his weight, Gale leans back and folds his arm. "So you admit that you permitted this to happen because you were afraid to challenge Astarion? To deny him something that he wants?"

She shakes her head vigorously. "No, that's not true. I'm not afraid of Astarion."

This makes his face harden even more. "Perhaps you should be. Fear of a dangerous vampire is considered healthy, even if it's just a spawn."

"Yes, Astarion is powerful, but he's not a threat to us," asserts acerbically.

"How can you say that? He killed an innocent man today."

"That man was hardly innocent. He would have dragged Astarion back to the person who's tortured him for centuries."

"That didn't mean we had to kill him!" Gale practically shouts. He makes a concerted effort to rein in his anger and lower his voice. "There are other paths we can take."

"It was Astarion's choice to make. Surely you can understand how concerning it can be to have a monster hunter skulking around looking for you?"

"But you cannot deny how—" Gale cuts himself off, stopping short to shift his gaze to the ground.

Muireann narrows her eyes. "I can't deny what?" She does not probe his mind for the answer, waiting for him to speak.

His words come out slowly. "You cannot deny how, ever since you let him bite you, feed off you, that you have been a slave to his whims."

Anger flares through her body, leaving her dizzy in the wake of her exhaustion. "What?" she hisses.

He presses on, undeterred. "In every decision you've made for us as a group, you've sided with him, no matter how unnecessarily violent or bloody it may be."

"So I should have let the Gur kidnap him? If someone comes looking to hunt you down, should I let them carry you off?"

"That man is called a monster hunter for a reason. I am not a monster, but Astarion is."

"The only monster I see in this group is the one who is willing to betray one of us because I rejected him."

Gale growls in frustration, taking a step closer. "That's not what this is about."

"Isn't it? You didn't care if I agreed with Astarion before that night. You accepted that he was a vampire until I turned you down."

He takes another menacing step forward. "I didn't realize the depth of his hold over you until now."

She takes a step back in response, her glare unwavering. "He doesn't have a hold over me."

Another step, looming closer. "You let him feed on you that night. How can you not see how—how perverse that is?" he sputters, face reddening.

"He hardly has a choice in that matter." She retreats again, her back bumping against a stone wall.

"You don't understand vampires; they're not like mortals. They don't have a moral compass. Everything about them is evil, twisted, and dark."

Her frown deepens into a scowl. "Like I said then, if you don't like it, you can always leave."

The growl this time sounds like a howl of rage, and suddenly, Gale lunges.

Her head smashes against the rock, and when she furiously blinks to clear her vision, she realizes Gale is pinning her shoulders to the wall to keep her upright, fingers pressing painfully into her like claws. She struggles against his hold, her arms weak and useless from Lae'zel. A jolt of fear courses through her as she meets Gale's wild eyes, realizing she has nothing to defend herself. He looks ready to strike, or worse.

"How can you accept him?" he demands.

Instead of answering, she prepares a spell that starts to rise to her lips. "Ign—"

She's cut off suddenly when Gale presses a heavy hand against her mouth. He leans closer to her ear where her rushing pulse all but drowns out his next words. "He's a beast, a monster, yet you cling to him like a lost child. It isn't right. This isn't you."

Her response is muffled by his hand.

"He's an animal, Muireann. How can you let an animal control you? Drink your blood? After everything he's done, how can you choose him? It's not rational to worship a dog as you do. He's done something to you, to control you—"

Suddenly, Gale is off of her, and Muireann sinks to the ground as she tenses in expectation of his strike. None comes.

Instead, Astarion stands there, gripping Gale by the neck. His eyes burn like nothing Muireann has seen before, almost giving credence to Gale's claims. Astarion's rage is  _ animalistic _ .

His words are thick, dangerous. His chest heaves with panting. "You know what separates us from animals? Choice. I choose to travel with you. A dog would do it on instinct, to fill a need. Disrespect her or me again—"

Astarion pauses to catch his breath before doubling down on his threat, jaw clenched.

"And I won't choose to kill you. I'll do it on instinct, to fulfill my need to hear you scream."

He releases the wizard who falls to the ground with a muted  _ thud. _ Gale scrambles to his feet, his own chest puffing with indignation, but wordlessly, he looks between Astarion, still towering over him, and Muireann, holding her knees to her chest. Wisely, he makes the choice to scurry away while he can, leaving them alone.

Astarion struggles to regain his composure, waiting for a few cautious moments before turning his characteristic carefree smile towards her in a slow, smooth movement. "Well, now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way." His hand makes a flippant waving motion in the air, dismissing Gale like a foul odor.

She pushes herself up, straightening to her full height. His words attempt a breezy tone, but the tension in his shoulders, stance, and still-clenched jaw betray him. The darkness in her yearns for the danger of his temper, a secret side of her wanting to see him tear Gale apart, limb by limb.

His chin dips just the slightest with a smirk, reading those enthralled, dark thoughts of hers. "As much as I would  _ love _ to right now, darling, I don't think that's in our best interest. Might upset the others."

She rolls her eyes at his daring, but really, it's an excuse to break eye contact, to gather her thoughts, unfiltered by the growing magnetism between them. As a priestess of Selûne, she does not wish for Gale's death. But the deeper parts of her, the bloodlust of the tadpole and her own selfish desire for revenge against his attempted assault, wants to see him go  _ punished _ . And Astarion's threatening words, still reverberating through the air like an aftershock, makes her want to see the vampire put that anger into action. To see the strength in his movements, the carnal passion of his anger, of him releasing control. It was  _ titillating _ .

The eye-rolling is not enough to regain control, and so she turns away, almost afraid of her own spiraling as she seeks for a further escape to her heady thoughts. She needs a stronger distraction. She had been physically drained from Lae'zel and absolutely angry with Gale's accusations. But now it felt as though Gale's assumptions were true. Perhaps Astarion had some sort of visceral control over her. Perhaps she had lost herself in this growing attraction she felt consuming her. She did not know how to reconcile everything together.

But perhaps there was no reconciling it. Perhaps, with the tadpole's aid, she would lose herself in the abyss of darkness. Perhaps she was transforming into something new, not a mindflayer, but a creature that relinquished herself to her darkest desires, forsaking all the teachings of Selûne.

"I like to think of it as instinct," Astarion's voice suddenly cuts across her thoughts. He continues, sounding closer, "Those deep, dark urges, what your body naturally craves. You are allowed to indulge them once in a while."

Turning, she finds him only inches away, and the proximity makes her stomach flip with sudden anticipation. Her head throbs with a single pulse of pain, a dull ache that reaches every crevice of her body.

Slowly, deliberately, he traces a finger from her temple to her chin, regarding her with a new burning in his eyes, a new curiosity. His thumb lands on her bottom lip, parting her mouth open. As he stares fixedly on it, she sees the glint of his teeth, and a new thrill courses through her body.

When the tip of his thumb protrudes a little further past her lip to explore the caverns of her mouth, she responds by closing her teeth around it. They do not bite hard—she does not have vampire teeth after all—but the act is enough to elicit a soft, surprised gasp from him.

His smirk deepens, and he pulls her chin closer to his face. The breath of his words ghosts across her face in icy drafts. "Sometimes, as creatures of higher intelligence, we have to understand when to hold back—"

He stops moving until there is barely any space between their faces, just enough for him to keep the thumb in her mouth as a buffer between their lips. He inhales deeply, and using his tadpole, he pushes a new thought, a new sensation into her mind. _ An unquenchable pain, a  _ thirst  _ accompanied by a mouthwatering smell, the spicy-sweet scent of her blood, held at bay by the fragile layer of her skin. It pulses enticingly through her lips, through the blush that warms her cheeks with a lovely scarlet. _

"—And when to toe that desperate yet necessary line, to risk the indulgence for our own sanity."

He pushes a new string of sensations that overwhelms her, a desire of a different sort. It wracks her body with fiery  _ need, _ overpowering the pain of the first, making her cry out.

He silences the noise by crushing his lips to hers.


End file.
